Martin paused. “Now you mention it, sir, I remember that I did not. His ringing the bell in this room was the first I knew of his being back. I should have heard him come in, if he had come in by the front. I should have heard the door go. But he must have come in by the window.” The man reflected for a moment, then added, “As a general rule, Mr. Manderson would come in by the front, hang up his hat and coat in the hall, and pass down the hall into the study. It seems likely to me that he was in a great hurry to use the telephone, and so went straight across the lawn to the window. He was like that, sir, when there was anything important to be done. He had his hat on, now I remember, and had thrown his greatcoat over the end of the table. He gave his order very sharp, too, as he always did when busy. A very precipitate man indeed was Mr. Manderson; a hustler, as they say.” “Ah! he appeared to be busy. But didn’t you say just now that you noticed nothing unusual about him?” A melancholy smile flitted momentarily over Martin’s face. “That observation shows that you did not know Mr. Manderson, sir, if you will pardon my saying so. His being like that was nothing unusual; quite the contrary. It took me long enough to get used to it. Either he would be sitting quite still and smoking a cigar, thinking or reading, or else he would be writing, dictating, and sending off wires all at the same time, till it almost made one dizzy to see it, sometimes for an hour or more at a stretch. As for being in a hurry over a telephone message, I may say it wasn’t in him to be anything else.” Trent turned to the inspector, who met his eye with a look of answering intelligence. Not sorry to show his understanding of the line of inquiry opened by Trent, Mr. Murch for the first time put a question. “Then you left him telephoning by the open window, with the lights on, and the drinks on the table; is that it?” “That is so, Mr. Murch.” The delicacy of the change in Martin’s manner when called upon to answer the detective momentarily distracted Trent’s appreciative mind. But the big man’s next question brought it back to the problem at once. “About those drinks. You say Mr. Manderson often took no whisky before going to bed. Did he have any that night?” “I could not say. The room was put to rights in the morning by one of the maids, and the glass washed, I presume, as usual. I know that the decanter was nearly full that evening. I had refilled it a few days before, and I glanced at it when I brought the fresh syphon, just out of habit, to make sure there was a decent-looking amount.” The inspector went to the tall corner-cupboard and opened it. He took out a decanter of cut glass and set it on the table before Martin. “Was it fuller than that?” he asked quietly. “That’s how I found it this morning.” The decanter was more than half empty.